9/11 Short Stories

Burke illustrates Tom’s inner conflict with first-person narration. The guilt he feels over the inactivity he had on the night of the incident, his frustration with Kylie and the added guilt he exhibits because he feels sorry for himself all adds up to his conflicted thoughts. Tom doesn’t know or feel like himself anymore. But Burke brings this to the attention of the reader in a good light when Tom thinks, “But now I knew what I missed most. I missed me, Tom Brennan, and that’s why now I could smile, ‘cause I could see he was coming back.” Thus, when J.C. Burke aptly finishes the book with the line “that was the morning Tom Brennan came back, forever,” the true development in Tom’s character and conflict is shown through the employment of first-person narration. Therefore, J.C. Burke thoroughly addressed the conflict in Tom’s mind as it was overcome in the

(12) shows Tom?s authority and the how gender roles affected everyone back in the 1920?s. Tom?s overpowering demeanor hides his actual self, he has a strong aura around him which suggests his authority on everyone around him, making him a kill joy. ¬

Falling forward, Tom pressed his lips against Booker’s open mouth and kissed him passionately. Removing his finger, Booker wrapped his arms around Tom’s narrow body and pulling him close, they thrust their bodies together as they continued to shudder out their release. Seconds passed, and when they were both finally spent, Tom slowed the kiss and sitting up, he trailed a finger over the seminal fluid covering Booker’s chest. “Wow,” he grinned.

Out of the darkness, rivers of brilliant light and color began to flow all around her, as if a dam holding back a rainbow had miraculously burst. Then she heard the music... a melody so beautiful it tugged at her very soul. It was as if the euphony clothed her in an impenetrable blanket. She felt warm. She felt safe. Uncontrollably, tears welled up, the hymn gripping her heart, and she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut and instinctively her body curled into a protective ball.

Having endured an hour-long grilling from Fuller about Booker’s disappearance, Tom exited his superior’s office feeling more than a little dispirited. Astute enough to know something had happened at the fraternity, his captain had badgered him relentlessly about the hazing case, but Tom had remained stubbornly tight-lipped and had revealed only the bare facts, much to Fuller’s indignation. Now Booker was gone, his rape was his own private hell and not something he could readily share with his friends. It was the source of his social withdrawal during the day, and a nightmare he relived in vivid color when he closed his eyes at night. But Tom felt he had no choice. To admit his failure as a police officer and more importantly,

Tom’s reading, along with his vast sense of imagination, is probably the greatest influence on his behavior. When prompted with a dilemma, he recalls to a similar situation

After his confrontation in the bar, Booker 's consciousness shifted to self-reflection, the intensity of his resentment decreasing as his levels of anxiety increased in slow, measured bursts. Tom had not only infected his heart, but he had also infected every fiber of his being, leaving him unprepared as a rising surge of emotion consumed his mind, body, and spirit. The Booker of old would have taken the attractive man back to his apartment and screwed his brains out, but the new and improved Booker had no interest in casual sex. He wanted Tom, not just as a sexual partner, but as a friend and confidant, someone he could share his innermost thoughts with when he needed advice or a sympathetic ear. He didn’t want to spend his life alone, and with the calming effects of the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, their fight now seemed trivial, a superfluous response born from jealousy and embarrassment. In the heat of the moment he had overreacted, his protectiveness coming to the fore, his need to coddle Tom ultimately pushing him away. It was a foolish mistake and one he knew he might have to live with for the rest of his life if he didn’t make things right. Therefore, he made the decision to ignore his ego, apologize for being a monumental pain in the ass, and beg forgiveness, even if he had to do so on bended knee.

A loud banging jarred Tom back to wakefulness. He jerked upright, his mind only semiconscious, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he struggled to orient himself in the darkness. Once he realized he was in his apartment and that the loud noise was someone knocking on his door, relief expelled a rush of air from between his lips. But his comfort was short lived, and visions of Michael McCarter’s mocking expression had him searching for his gun before he remembered he’d surrendered it to Penhall the day after his talk with Fuller. Getting to his feet, he winced as his bare foot made contact with the razor blade embedded in the carpet. Fortunately, it was the blunt end pressing into his skin, and reaching down, he picked it up off the floor

Tom paused for a moment before entering the apartment that had once been his home for a week. It seemed incredulous to him that three long years had passed since Harry had taken him in after his fight with Booker, and he gazed around the neat home with curious eyes. Not much had changed except for a new bookcase that stood where a small bureau had once been, its shelves methodically stacked with books in both English and Vietnamese. A few photographs broke up the monotony of book spines lining the shelves and one photo in an attractive carved wooden frame immediately caught Tom’s eye. His body froze and he stared with a transfixed gaze at the image of Harry and Judy’s smiling faces. The photograph looked recent and his brow knitted into a deep frown. He had assumed that once Jump Street had disbanded that Booker and Harry were the only ones who had stayed in touch because they worked together. But it appeared Harry and Judy were still friends, and he suddenly wondered if Booker had purposely kept the information from him. As he stared at the picture, another more disturbing thought crossed his mind and his frown deepened.

Holland was fiercely jealous, and the young officer did not fancy spending another night alone in the oubliette because he had stepped over the imaginary line of lustful indecency. Not that he really cared about Tom, he didn’t. As far as he was concerned, that ship had sailed, and the rousing, physical ache he had once felt for the beautiful officer was now nothing more than a faint memory. In its place was seething resentment, coupled with the knowledge Tom had duped him into retrieving the tapes, thereby putting his morality at risk. No matter how he looked at it, Tom was the root of all his problems, and he’d be damned if he would pine for a man who had destroyed the very fabric of his being, whether intentionally or not. The thought of leaving had crossed his mind many times, and he longed to tell Holland to ram his precious contract where the sun don’t shine and release the tapes because he no longer cared about Tom’s state of mind. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it, partly because he no longer had the confidence to stand up for himself, and partly because he knew Jorge would ultimately bear the brunt of Holland’s fury. Therefore, he remained silent, and all he could do was endure the humiliation until he was free to

While Tom’s id and ego are at odds with each other, his superego never fully develops for he sometimes experiences guilt for his wrongdoings but does not accept full responsibility

A myriad of emotions played over Booker’s face; surprise, disbelief, uncertainty, admiration, until finally, his expression relaxed into one of pure love. With an unsteady hand, he took the proffered supplies and placed them on the mattress. As he caught Tom’s eye, his heart dipped, and he dropped to his hands so he could plant a tender kiss on his lover’s lips. “Are you sure, baby,” he breathed against the plump, inviting flesh. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

With a mischievous smile, Booker quickly stripped off his clothes. Once naked, he settled himself between Tom’s thighs, his rigid cock protruding proudly from a mass of dark curls, his dark eyes shimmering in the light from the bedside lamp. Keen to get things moving, he took hold of Tom’s left ankle and carefully unlaced his boot. It took several tugs to liberate it from Tom’s foot, but once free, he tossed it to the floor, along with his sock. After repeating the process with the right boot and sock, he cradled Tom’s foot in his hand and lightly peppered the sensitive sole with soft kisses before taking the big toe into his mouth and sucking deeply. The bridge of Tom’s nose wrinkled in delight, and his body squirmed beneath the tender

Tom’s muscled tensed, his concern curling his fingers into fists. He suffered through several long, agonizing moments, his heart hammering against his chest, waiting, watching, counting down the seconds in his mind until Booker’s head bobbed to the surface. When he caught sight of his friend’s dark hair, he exhaled a weighty breath. But his relief was short lived. As Booker effortlessly swam to the side of the pool, the cold hand of fear gripped his heart, and he gulped down his rising panic. His lower lip pulled between his teeth as he tried to focus his mind. Tyrell had given him two choices, neither ideal, leaving him caught between a rock and a hard place. Both options were likely to bring on a panic attack, the trauma of which would prove him unworthy in the teen’s eyes. But he couldn’t just stand there like the coward he was and not expect the shadow of suspicion to fall upon him. His lack of courage was putting the whole program at risk, and he knew he needed to act fast or live with the consequences forever.

A light wave of chatter undulated throughout the bar, the cheerful voices creating a welcoming ambiance without intruding on Tom and Dennis’ conversation. It was a relaxing environment, open and friendly, yet affording them the intimacy Booker craved. He wanted to get to know Hanson better, and not just in a sexual way. Despite working together, he knew very little about the young officer’s past, and he longed to fill in the blanks so he could understand what made him tick. Curiosity was his curse, and he felt an insatiable desire to know everything about a person. Many accused him of narcissism, but he was, in fact, the exact opposite. People stirred inside him an almost voyeuristic interest; their complexity of mind a constant source of fascination. He could while away countless hours people watching, silently observing their interactions, his active imagination keeping him amused as he psychoanalyzed their various behaviors. Since meeting Tom, he had spent many a lonely night creating visual stories in his mind, while his talented fingers stroked his cock to hardness. He even fabricated fantasies involving the officer’s sexual preferences, which usually contained visions of bondage and whipped cream. He had become so proficient in believing his make-believe world, he almost felt as though he and Tom were in an intimate relationship. Except it was all a lie. He knew nothing about the beautiful man sitting across from him, but all that was about to change. They were alone,